Klingon Headquarters, London

Wednesday 26th January 1994

Frightened and confused but remembering Krang's very clear instructions that she should obey any orders given to her by his guards, Chrissie had not struggled when the Klingon soldiers bundled her into the shuttle and shoved her into a seat. Not that struggling would have achieved anything, she thought. Even if she'd had any fighting ability whatsoever, they were bigger, and stronger, not to mention heavily armed. They had also outnumbered her significantly. She'd watched apprehensively as the door swung closed and the engines revved in preparation for take-off – and she'd been on enough shuttle rides now, to know that revving the engines like that was unnecessary, nothing more than a display of aggressive piloting.

She could not help wondering if Krang was responsible for this. Her Klingon lover had come home very late last night, long after the children's bedtime – and their tantrums had been another source of annoyance for Chrissie. They'd wanted their bedtime story and only Krang would do! She'd come very close to losing her temper with their recalcitrance. And then, when he had finally turned up, he'd been in a foul mood that had left her feeling jittery and nervous.

When they'd gone to bed, his lovemaking had been aggressive enough to scare her and she had finally understood what he had been trying to tell her that first night they had spent together, that Klingon sex could be rough and violent. To his credit, as soon as she had told him that he was hurting her, he had stopped, waiting for her to tell him what she wanted. He had fallen asleep immediately afterwards and she'd lain awake for a while, wondering what was wrong with him. Eventually, lulled by the warmth of his body and the slow, even sound of his breathing that was almost but not quite a snore, she'd allowed herself to doze off and join him in sleep. Any thoughts she'd had of speaking to him over breakfast, however, were dashed when morning came, and she woke to find herself alone.

No, she decided, she had to trust him. Unless something drastic had happened, she could not imagine that Krang had anything to do with this abduction. Had he, however unlikely it might be, found the phaser in the toilet cistern, she wondered frantically? Or had he found out about her connection with Sarah and the Enterprise? No, she told herself again, remembering how the soldier had lashed out at Marie-Claire, punching her in the face. Krang would not have allowed that and if he had wanted to arrest her, he would have done so himself. He had too much honour to do otherwise.

That thought was enough to send a cold shiver down her spine. If not Krang, then who? And why? He had told her that he was the planetary governor, that he was in charge of everything that happened here. So if this had happened without his approval, what did that mean? Was he in trouble somehow? And what about her children? She did not bother to think about her own welfare, it was all too obvious that she was anything but safe.

The soldiers had talked amongst themselves, passing time on the short journey, and Chrissie listened carefully in an attempt to figure out what was going on. Krang was teaching her to speak thlingan Hol but it had been only a week and after such a short time, her grasp of his language was still extremely limited. Even so, she was able to pick out a few words, enough to determine that their destination was London.

She'd also heard the term 'Karg HoD' mentioned more than once. That meant captain or colonel, she knew, depending on whether the officer in question commanded a ship or was ground based. She had the answer to her question now. Not Krang - and she had known he would not treat her in such a dishonourable way - but Colonel Karg!

If Klingons gossiped like humans did - and the way these soldiers appeared to be laughing and joking together, it was very likely that they did - there was a good chance that Karg knew of her relationship with Krang. Did he plan to use her against him in some way? Whatever his motives, Chrissie was certain that they boded no good for her.

Mentally, she reviewed what little she knew of Karg. His reputation was a bad one. Sarah had said that he was known to the resistance and had gone so far as to call him a butcher. When Chrissie had met him, he'd been more or less civil, but she'd been left with the distinct impression that he harboured resentment, hatred even, towards Krang, something that her lover had confirmed. Krang had spoken of Karg several times with barely repressed anger, and she knew he'd caused huge amounts of trouble. He'd also been responsible for the torture of her brother. Chrissie had thought he was under house arrest awaiting deportation, but if he had engineered her arrest, then she had to assume that was no longer the case.

After a journey that Chrissie was convinced had taken a lot longer than the ten minutes it normally took to travel from the Loire Valley to London, the shuttle eventually came down to land and as the engines disengaged, one of the soldiers, moved to open the hatch. A second soldier, the squad leader she thought, gestured to her to get up. With the heavy, metal cuffs securing her hands behind her back, she struggled to move and was not quite quick enough for his liking. Cursing, he grabbed hold of her, dragging her to her feet and shoving her roughly towards the exit.

It was raining heavily in London, Chrissie discovered – if she was right and this actually was London, and as the soldiers dragged her across a waterlogged parking area containing several shuttles, she was thankful for her boots and heavy winter coat. Even so, her hair was quickly soaked, ice-cold water running down her face and neck. Judging by the speed with which they manhandled her towards a nearby doorway, her abductors were as unimpressed by the weather as she was. Good, she thought vindictively, hoping that H.G. Wells had got it right when he wrote 'War of the Worlds' and that they all came down with a horrible flu bug, or even better, pneumonia!

The outer door shut with a heavy thud and the soldiers 'escorted' her along several poorly lit corridors and through another door. A few more paces and they forced her into the first available cell.

Her eyes adjusting to the darkness, Chrissie looked around her, taking in her surroundings. In typical Victorian style, her prison was a large, windowless room with three brick walls and the fourth side consisting of a set of bars that separated it from the corridor. With the exception of a narrow, metal bench running the length of the back wall, it was unfurnished.

She'd seen similar cells on the television, in various movies and from the lack of sanitary facilities, she guessed it was a temporary holding cell, the sort that, when this had been a normal, functioning police station, would have been filled with drunks on a Saturday night. Stains on the flooring and the stale, unpleasant smell of body fluids and worse, told her that previous occupants had remained here rather longer than the word 'temporary' might indicate.

Not knowing what else to do, Chrissie sat on the bench, as far into the corner as she could get, and waited.

Cursing the driving rain that had left his hair plastered to his skull and somehow got under his uniform, leaving him soaked to the skin, Grenn busied himself counting down the minutes until he would be relieved of outdoor duty. Not for the first time, he wondered why he had bothered to join the Defence Force. This was not what he had signed up for. He remembered the stories his father and uncles had told him – glamorous adventure stories, full of excitement, glory, and honour. Not day after day standing guard on an alien, backwater planet, three hundred years in the past because the High Council had some stupid idea about changing history.

It was not all bad, of course. The accommodations here on Earth were far superior to the two metres he would have allocated to him on board a ship. Even the weather was not really any worse than back home and the summers were far more temperate - in this part of the planet at least. As well, the pay was good and allowed him to provide a good standard living for his family. A pang went through him at the thought of his wife and sons. It had been two years since he had seen his boys and he wondered if they would even know him now. His youngest had been only six months old the last time he'd seen him. He'd put in a request for leave, he decided, and go home and spend some time with his family before they forgot him completely. The glory of the empire could manage without him for a while.

He shifted uncomfortably, muttering something rude under his breath what the empire could do with itself, the comment drawing a startled look from his fellow guard. "Water down my neck," he said, choosing not to admit what was really going through his mind.

"I'm sick of this g'dayt weather," Kroll said with a heavy sigh. "How long now 'til we change shift?"

"Thirty-five minutes," Grenn said. "Not that I'm counting. Thirty-five minutes as we can dry off a bit and get a hot drink."

"It's only coffee today," Kroll said gloomily. "I'll take it though, even if it's swill compared to proper raktakino."

"Me too," Grenn agreed. "It's better than nothing. At least it'll be hot."

Kroll grunted. "Even better, we're done outside for the day after that."

"Not that guarding the holding cells is fun," Grenn said irritably. It was in fact one of the most boring duties on the rota. He shifted his weight again, convinced that he could feel water squelching inside his boots. "But at least it won't be raining down there."

A shuttle flew overhead, catching Grenn's attention as it banked, coming down to land with a splash in the half-flooded parking area. The hatch opened and the ramp extended and Grenn could hear the squad swearing loudly as they stepped out into the torrential rain. They had a prisoner with them, he noted, no doubt some poor sod accused of being in the resistance. And why not, he wondered, aware his thoughts were vaguely treasonous but not particularly caring, even if he were not stupid enough to voice them aloud. If it were his homeworld, he would fight to the death to protect it and his mate and children. Why should the Terrans be any different? He shrugged mentally; for all he might understand their motivations, he was a soldier and he would do his job to the best of his ability.

This prisoner was a woman, he realised. He could not see her features, but she looked small and helpless compared to the soldiers surrounding her. Appearances could be deceptive, he reminded himself. Even so, a faint twinge of pity stirred him as they roughly manhandled her It was not his place to interfere however, and so he did nothing.

Grenn watched as the soldiers hustled the prisoner across the yard, allowing the little drama that was playing out to take his mind off the cold and the wet as well as the routine boredom of his current duty. Someone opened the door that led through to the holding cells and as they shoved the prisoner inside, she turned slightly and a gap in the ranks of the soldiers allowed him to see her face.

"Yintagh!" He swore under his breath and his companion gave him an irritated look.

"Fek'lhr's hoof! What now?"

For a moment, he didn't answer, his attention fully on the figure disappearing into the dark corridors of the antiquated prison area.

Kroll elbowed him. "Well? What is it?"

Grenn shook himself and turned back to face his fellow guard. "That's the boss's woman."

"Not possible," Kroll said with certainty. "You must be mistaken. And how would you know what she looks like anyway?"

"I've met her," Grenn said. "Don't you remember? The woman who came here last week. You asked me to speak to her because your English wasn't good enough and I escorted her to his office."

"Oh, her! That's who he's sleeping with?" Kroll scoffed. "Didn't look anything special to me and definitely not the dangerous type. I wonder what she's done to get arrested."

"I don't know," Grenn said, his eyes still on the now closed door. "But I tell you, Kroll, there's something wrong. I do not think she is a criminal and I find myself wondering if the boss knows she is here."

Kroll shook his head. "No-one would dare go against the boss's orders." He stopped as realisation dawned. "QI'yaH!" Glancing around to make sure there was no-one in earshot, he lowered his voice before continuing, speaking so quietly he was doing little more than mouthing the name. "Karg! It has to be. There isn't anyone else. Grenn, this means trouble!" Seeing Grenn's surprised look, he added, "What? I'm not stupid, Grenn. I still think the boss is going soft, but like you said before, it was him who got us these extra breaks and hot drinks. I won't forget that. Besides, if it comes down to a fight between those two, I know who my money is on."

"I don't like this," Grenn said, frowning. "I don't like it at all. We should do something."

"Don't be an idiot!" Kroll snapped, "We can't leave our posts. We'll be on duty down there in an hour or so, we can find out then what's going on.

Grenn was silent for a moment as he thought about Kroll's words. He had misjudged his colleague, he realised, had not expected him to be an ally. But What Kroll said made sense. As well, they were going to have to be very careful. They were just bekks, common soldiers and going up against a colonel was likely to get them executed. "You're right," he said eventually, "I think we…" He stopped, catching sight of a familiar figure looming out of the gloom.

Kroll had seen it too, and both men snapped to attention as Karg passed them, a pair of bekks that Grenn knew had been assigned to guard him at his side. In his hurry to get inside, out of the driving rain, the disgraced colonel did not bother to acknowledge them as he stepped into the building, shutting the door behind him.

United in their concern, the two guards exchanged a glance and counted down the time until shift change.

Thank you again to JDC0, RobertBruceScott and Solasnagreine for your continued support and comments. Sorry if I have not replied but Ive been having problems with the the site, which among other problems, is refusing to show the reviews.

Ive just published the first couple of chapters of a short story featuring Krang and his family 16 years after the Dominion war. It's very dark in places but I promise you, I am not killing Krang. I still have several stories to tell involving him and his family. This one is completely finished (other than minor tweaks) so will be posted very quickly. Ive been writing it in between taking short breaks from this big story. My next short story project is going to centre on T'lia, the Vulcan doctor and after that, hopefully Antonio, Krang's stepson will get his own story as well.